Chapter 5
CONFESSIONAL 1116
Judson, Lana (Public Relations Director: Juniper Ridge)
Want to know a secret?
No, not a juicy one. Come on, Lauren.
A smart public relations professional actually loves a crisis. When things go wrong, but you know exactly how to handle it. How to spin the story to put your client’s best foot forward so everyone comes out smelling like roses.
Maybe not roses, but something sweet. Strawberries or kiwi or—it’s like a smoothie!
A smoothie all swirled together, blended just how you like it, so no one really knows what even went into the mix and?—
Could I please get a drink here?
* * *
“Who are we meeting again?”
I stop scanning the cozy dining room of O’Brien’s to answer Dal’s question. “Her name’s Cassidy Brooks.” I cross my legs on the bench seat and my knee bumps Dal’s. “She’s my mother’s assistant.”
“And she lives here?”
Here, as it happens, is Cherry Blossom Lake. It’s a tiny town on the Oregon Coast where my parents own an ostentatious mega-mansion called Maison de la Mer.
They’re still in Australia, which is why this four-hour road trip makes a great first stop on the Great Tour of Chowder. Free lodging, and no awkward chats with my parents in the hall.
Dal’s still puzzling out my family connection to the Oregon Coast. “And you know the owner of this place somehow?” He glances around O’Brien’s, dark eyes trailing over shiny tap handles and the air hockey table in the corner. “You said there’s some link to your mom’s assistant.”
“Cassidy’s sister is engaged to Cal Cornish, who makes the killer razor clam chowder we’re here to try.” It topped Dal’s must-taste list, and I’m not surprised. Cal’s kind of a legend.
“Cal Cornish, yeah. I’ve heard a lot about him.” There’s deep respect in Dal’s eyes. “An up-and-comer. Totally self-taught. Uses a lot of his late mother’s recipes.”
“Bingo.” I study Dal, wondering what’s got him distracted. He’s not normally this glued to his phone, but he’s glanced at the screen three times since we sat down. “Everything okay?”
He nods and tucks the phone in his pocket. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I don’t want to pry, but?—
“My brother had a brunch date this morning.” He looks so sheepish that I bite my tongue. “I’m waiting to hear how it went.”
“You’re worried?”
With a shrug, he looks down at the table. “Just protective, I guess.”
I know how that goes. “Have you met the person he’s dating?”
“A couple times.” He shrugs again, a boyish gesture that tickles my heart. “Her name’s Rosa Pato. Seems like a cool girl. Passionate about accessibility issues. She lobbies for stem cell research and fights insurance companies on rights for people in wheelchairs.”
“I can see why Ji-Hoon would be smitten.” I make a mental note to have Mari check her out. Due diligence for the show and all that.
“Anyway.” He shrugs and looks up from the table. “I just want him to be happy, you know?”
“I get it.” I touch his arm, surprised when he doesn’t pull back. I leave my hand there, soaking up warmth from his skin. “For what it’s worth, I felt concerned every time one of my siblings got into a relationship.”
He regards me with interest, dark eyes searching mine. “How’d you handle it?”
“Nervously.” I laugh, remembering sharp waves of worry that my siblings would get their hearts broken. I felt it with Mari and Griffin. With Dean and Vanessa. With Cooper and Amy and— “But they’re all happily married now, so I guess there’s something to be said for trusting them to make their own choices.”
Dal cocks his head. “Are you jealous?”
“Of what?”
“That you’re the only one not married and popping out babies.”
Hello, Mr. Blunt Guy. “Not really.” I give that some thought since he’s asking me honestly. “I’m glad for all of them. And I love all my brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law.” I should stop touching his arm, but I’m lost in my story, and it seems awkward to move my hand. “I guess I’m just watchful. My parents have sort of a weird marriage, but I’m cautiously optimistic that my siblings?—”
“Weird how?”
I blink. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not?”
I swallow hard, hoping Cassidy shows up soon. Why did I bring up my parents’ marriage? “It’s private,” I manage, and maybe Dal sees something in my eyes. A sign he shouldn’t keep probing. “What about your parents? Were they as happy as they looked in commercials?”
It’s a risk asking Dal about his dead mom and dad. But his shoulders relax like he’s glad to be asked. “They were fucking nuts about each other.” He laughs as his eyes go unfocused, lost in nostalgia, maybe. “Always playing grab-ass around the kitchen. Dad called her his special spice blend.”
My insides warm with a memory that’s not even mine. “I saw an interview where he said convincing your mom to marry him was his single greatest achievement in his life.” Dal gives me a questioning look. “I watched a lot of old Korean TV spots before we brought you guys on. Your parents were adorable together.”
“They really were.” His voice sounds hoarse, and he clears his throat. “I miss them a lot.”
“I can only imagine.” My fingers curl protectively around the rope of his forearm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” He nods and looks away, casting around for a subject change. “Can’t wait to try the chowder.”
Like an angel in a raincoat, Cassidy flies through the door. I wave so she sees me, and Mom’s assistant smiles warmly, flipping her hood as she peels off her jacket.
“Remind me of her name again,” Dal murmurs.
“Cassidy Brooks,” I whisper. “Her fiancé is a commercial fisherman. Maybe if you’re nice, he’ll give you a lead on fresh seafood.”
“I’m always nice.”
I slant him a look and—maturely, I think—no eye roll.
Dal sighs. “I am,” he insists. “Mostly.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. ‘touch my trip snacks and lose a hand.’” I knew he was kidding but still steered clear of his homemade jalape?o crisps on the car ride here. One was plenty to singe my tongue. “You sure you didn’t wilt off all your tastebuds with those?”
“My tongue’s just fine, thanks.” He gives me a look that’s hard to interpret as Cassidy starts for our table. Good thing, since I don’t need more thoughts of Dal’s tongue clouding my brain.
“Sorry I’m late.” Cassidy’s damp from the perpetual Oregon Coast rain as I stand to hug her.
“No problem at all.” I breathe in the fresh-air scent of her hair. “Is Jake parking the car?”
“Ugh, no.” She checks her watch and winces. “They had some kind of issue with the Sarah Lou this morning, so he’s running late.”
“I’m Dal Yang.” He stands and shakes her hand. “Who’s Sarah Lou?”
“That’s the name of my fiancé’s boat.” She drops to the bench seat beside me. “He’s Jake, and I’m Cassidy.”
“And Jake and Cass are the world’s cutest couple,” I add for Dal’s benefit. “Cass used to live in LA with my parents but came here to set up their new house.”
“And fell madly in love with a grumpy, small-town boat captain.” She laughs as she says it, her cheeks glowing. “Wouldn’t change a thing, though.”
I study her face, amazed at how laid-back she looks. When I first met Cassidy, she was wound up tighter than the screws on a jungle gym. Not these days, though. “Small-town life agrees with you.”
“Thanks.” She turns back to Dal. “It’s night and day from where Lana and I lived, but I love it here. It’s peaceful, you know? Everyone looks out for each other.”
He slides me a look that’s filled with respect. “Kinda like what Lana built at Juniper Ridge.”
I love that he’s giving me credit, but fair’s fair. “It wasn’t just me, but yeah—having a small, self-contained community was the whole point of Juniper Ridge.”
“Seems like it’s working.” Cass picks up a menu and scans it. “I love the show. You had quite the finale, Dal. I liked how you told off that jerk in the restaurant.”
He grunts and meets my eyes across the table. “I’m not one for sugarcoating things. If someone’s being an asshole, I tell them.”
Cass flips to the backside of her menu. “You and my husband will get along great.” She looks at me as her cheeks tint pink. “Is that weird I just called him my husband? The wedding’s not for a few months.”
“Absolutely not.” I love how happy she looks. “What does my mom always say? ‘A smart woman rehearses her lines, even if she’s not an actress.’” That sounds slimy when I say it out loud, so I quickly shift the subject. “How’s Mom doing, anyway?”
“Good.” Cass keeps studying the menu, and I wonder what she knows. My parents keep her locked in a strict non-disclosure agreement, so it’s anyone’s guess. Maybe Mom’s made her privy to our darkest secret. “She was finalizing details of the Australia leg of her book tour when I left Sydney two days ago.”
“You just got back from Australia?” Dal blinks. “That’s dedication.”
“I’m used to it.” Cassidy shrugs like jetlag’s just part of the job. “I don’t travel as much as I used to, but I do what the Judsons need me to do.”
Dal’s eyes meet mine, and I fight the urge to look away. “Probably true for lots of folks.”
Something in his voice gets me squirming on the bench seat. Time for a new subject. “I’m not sure what to order.” I grab a menu from a slot in the napkin dispenser and give it a good once-over. “The shrimp salad looks good.” I don’t lift my gaze, though I feel Dal’s eyes on me. “And obviously I hear the chowder’s amazing.”
“Cal harvests the clams himself.” Cassidy addresses Dal. “Lana probably told you this place shut down after his mother passed, but Cal resurrected O’Brien’s. He’s engaged to my sister.”
Dal nods and lifts a dark brow. “They put something in the water here?”
No one’s brought water to the table, but Dal’s got a HydroFlask he brought from the car. “Does it taste funny?” I point to the bottle. “You filled it back in Salem, right?”
“No, I mean everyone’s engaged.” He folds his hands on the table. “Just wondering if it’s catching from somewhere.”
Cassidy laughs as a handsome server starts toward us with a tray of glasses. “We can ask Jimmy to taste yours first, if you’re worried.” She looks up as the young man—Jimmy, presumably—starts setting down water.
“Afternoon, everybody.” He puts a glass in front of me. “Welcome to O’Brien’s.”
“Thank you.” Cassidy picks up her glass. “Any updates from the big man?” She shifts her gaze to mine. “Jimmy works for Jake.”
“Ah.”
The young man sets down Dal’s water glass. “I left Jake at the docks about twenty minutes ago.” He offers an apologetic smile. “I barely had time to run home and change between jobs.”
Cassidy tucks a cardboard coaster under her glass. “Jimmy’s training as Jake’s first mate. They just got back from catching halibut this morning.”
“Halibut.” Dal looks delighted. “Rumor has it Cal Cornish does a killer halibut crusted in Dungeness crab and breadcrumbs, topped with a sweet chili sauce.”
“The rumor’s true, and it’s fantastic.” Jimmy plucks a pad from his apron and that’s when I smell it. Something…odd.
Something…not pleasant.
What is that?
Dal wrinkles his nose and I know it’s not just me. Did someone…um…?
“You folks know what you want to drink?”
“I might need a sec.” Dal meets my eye. “You?”
Oh, God. Does he think I made that smell? “I haven’t even looked at drinks yet.”
“Cool.” Jimmy tucks the pad back in his apron. “I’ll come back in a bit with fresh bread.”
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Cassidy sings as he strides away.
The instant he’s out of earshot, Dal leans in. “What the fuck was that smell?”
“What?” Cass looks panicked and sniffs under her arms. “I didn’t smell anything.
Glaring at Dal, I kick his shin under the table. “Way to be rude.”
“What?”
I roll my eyes and look at Cass. “Ignore him. He’s very blunt.”
She stops smelling her shirt, but still looks edgy. “I don’t think it’s me.”
“It isn’t,” I assure her. “I smelled you when we hugged and you’re fresh as a daisy.”
“Thank God.”
I aim another glare at Dal. “You can’t just say stuff like that to strangers.”
He looks genuinely perplexed. “Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s impolite. Besides, the smell’s gone now.”
Cassidy looks at the kitchen. “Maybe they’re cleaning fresh crab. That has an odor sometimes.”
“I’m sure that’s it.” I flip to the beverage listings. “Do I want kombucha or a beer?”
“They’re both great.” Cassidy taps the third beer listed on the menu. “Jake’s brother, Mason, owns Big One’s Brewery. That’s his newest.”
“Big One’s?” Dal quirks a brow again. “As in balls?”
“Jesus, Dal.” I can’t take this guy anywhere.
But Cassidy’s laughing and shaking her head. “He gets that a lot, and yeah, he probably named his brewery that way on purpose. It’s actually a reference to the earthquake scientists say will eventually wipe out the Pacific Northwest—The Big One.”
I stifle a shudder. “That’s a little grim.”
“That’s Mason.” She shrugs with affection. “Jake’s brothers have an odd sense of humor.”
Dal looks thoughtful. “I like it.” He sets down his menu. “And I’m sold on the beer.”
Jimmy comes over and oh my God—the smell. It’s back.
It’s definitely him.
“You folks ready for drinks?”
Good lord, my eyes are watering. What is that?
“Um, yes,” I manage, blinking to clear my vision. “I’ll try the blackberry kombucha, please.”
“Good choice.” He scribbles on his notepad. “Cassidy?”
“What the heck? It’s five o’clock somewhere.” She sets down her menu and smiles. “A glass of pinot grigio, please.”
“Coming right up.” He looks at Dal as I struggle for breath. The stench, it’s awful. How did I not notice before? Jimmy’s standing close to my side of the table, so maybe that’s it. “And you, sir?”
Dal grits his teeth, and I know the stink’s getting to him. “What on earth is that s?—”
“Saison!” I shout, cutting him off before he makes us look like assholes. I deliver a kick to Dal’s shin and force a smile. “Didn’t you say you wanted to try a local Saison to go with seafood?”
“Yeah.” He glares and shifts his leg out of my reach. “I’ll have the Shipwreck Saison from Big One’s.”
Jimmy jots the order as a bell dings in the kitchen. “Got it.” He bobs back, taking the stench of death with him. “Bread’s up. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he’s gone, I glower at Dal. “You’ll embarrass him if you blurt it out like that!”
He glowers right back. “He’ll embarrass himself if we don’t say something.”
Cassidy stifles a cough. “It smells like feet. Rotting feet.”
“Not an aroma you want in a restaurant.” Dal frowns at me. “You really want to ignore it?”
“Not ignore it.” As bad as it is, that’s not an option. “I just think we should handle the situation more delicately.”
“How?” He looks to the kitchen, where Jimmy’s piling bread in a basket. “Should we ask him to play twenty questions?”
“No.” I tip my chin up. “Something subtle.”
Cassidy bites her lip. “He’s a really sweet guy. Works two jobs to take care of his grandma with dementia.”
“See?” I glare daggers at Dal. “You can’t just hurt someone’s feelings by telling them they stink.”
“You want a group hug and an intervention?” He coughs. “I don’t think my nostrils could survive the hug.”
“I’ll think of something.” I see Jimmy on his way back, so I gesture at Dal to shut up. “Just give me a chance.”
“Here you go, folks.” Jimmy sets the bread on the table. “Sorry the drinks are taking a while. Bartender got backed up.”
“It’s fine, no worries.” I draw a deep breath and then wish I hadn’t. “Wow, you know what?” I make a show of sniffing my sleeve. “I think I might’ve spilled something on my sweater. There’s a weird odor.”
Cassidy plays along. “What if it’s me?” She pretends to sniff the front of her shirt, and I remember why my mom loves her so much. “It’s definitely something.”
“So strange.” Who says I didn’t get the Judson family acting chops? “I wonder what it is.”
Dal strokes the sleeve of my button-up sweater shirt, sending sparks up my arm. “Cashmere clings to odors.”
I swallow a shiver, not sure if he’s playing along or just touching my arm for the fun of it. “You’re right, this is cashmere.” Please keep touching me. “I wonder if that’s it?”
“Could be.” Cassidy glances around in an Oscar-worthy show of curiosity. “I guess it could be anything.”
I deliberately don’t look at Jimmy, not wanting to be too obvious. “Whatever it is, it could happen to anyone.”
As I dart a look at Dal, he rolls his eyes. I look at Jimmy instead, who smiles at me brightly. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but yeah.” He tips his head back to sniff the air. “Something might be a little… off.”
“God, you’re right.” I should stop smelling my sweater, but Dal’s touch got me all discombobulated. “I wonder what it could be.”
With a look of deep sympathy, Jimmy nods to the kitchen. “If you want, there’s a lost and found.”
“Pardon?” I’m not sure I follow.
“If your sweater stinks,” he offers, “I can see if there’s something else you could borrow.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Well?—”
“It’s no trouble at all.” Jimmy shifts into helper mode. “They even wash stuff that’s been sitting a while, so most of it’s clean.”
“Right.” How do I fix this? “Um.”
Dal gives me a smirk and I kick him again. “Ow.”
That wasn’t Dal. I pull back my foot, rubbing the toe that just struck the table leg. “Thank you, Jimmy.” Maybe this could still work. “I’ll try it and see if that fixes things.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He hurries away and Dal watches him go. “Now what, Pollyanna?”
“Don’t call me that.” Not the first time I’ve heard that nickname, and I hate it.
“Sorry.” He sounds like he means it. “Hey, you tried.”
I lean forward to whisper, determined to save my plan. “Look, he’ll bring me something to put on, he’ll realize it wasn’t me, and then he’ll figure it out.”
“I like it.” Cassidy gives a supportive nod. “Good plan, Lana.”
“Thank you.” I stick my tongue out at Dal, who rolls his eyes again.
“What if he thinks it’s Cassidy?” He folds both hands on the table and I admire the flex of his forearm tattoo. “Or me.”
“Maybe it is you,” I fire back, then stand and make a big show of standing up to sniff him.
Mistake.
Dal smells like woodsmoke and sage and something utterly lickable. I breathe him in like an addict seeking a fix.
“Lana?” His voice sounds strained.
“What?” I look down and— “Oops.”
My boobs rest right in his face. And with the top two buttons undone on my sweater, he’s getting quite an eyeful.
But Dal doesn’t look like he minds. As a matter of fact, he looks dazed. I sit down fast, not sure who won that round.
“Nice bra,” says Dal. “Pink’s a good color on you.”
“Thanks.” I throw back my shoulders, not letting him get to me. “You smell very nice.”
Cassidy looks from Dal to me. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I just got a contact high from the pheromones.”
Dal clears his throat. “You’re sure that’s not the stench of death?”
“It’s nothing.” I hate how obvious I am. How even Cassidy sees I’m hot for Dal.
Not that he looks so stoic. His eyes are unfocused and fixed on my chest. Shaking his head, he seems to pull back from a trance.
“Found something!” Jimmy strides out of the kitchen with some colorful fabric bunched under one arm. “There wasn’t much that looked like it would fit you, but this should work.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“No prob.” He sets down his tray and hands me what looks like a tie-dyed sweatshirt. As I unfurl the fabric, I spot a cartoon crustacean stitched on the chest. There’s a gigantic hole in one shoulder, and beside that a sticky glue stain. At least, I hope that’s glue.
“It’s clean,” he says, and I muster some gratitude.
“Thank you.” I shake it out and read the words printed over the boobs. I got crabs at Fresh Catch. “It’s perfect.”
“Restroom’s in the corner if you want to change.” He doles out our drinks, and the stench makes my eyes water. “Who’s ready for food?”
Cass checks her phone. “Jake’s on his way. Can we wait just a couple minutes?”
“No problem.” Jimmy hands Dal his beer, and the surly chef buries his nose in the stein. Smart man.
I hoist my kombucha to sip, but I end up dipping the tip of my nose in red liquid. “Guh!” I grab for the napkins and press a wad to my face.
“Are you okay?” Jimmy looks concerned.
“Fine.” My eyes water and I gulp a few filtered breaths through the napkins.
Cassidy coughs beside me. She’s either laughing or choking to death.
Dal’s shaking his head as he picks up his menu. “How’s the baked crab dip appetizer?”
“Amazing.” Jimmy leans in to point at the menu and I nearly pass out. “The popcorn shrimp is really good, too.”
“Crab dip, please.” Dal’s voice sounds strained, and he uses the menu to fan off the stink. Not subtle, but it gets the job done.
“I’ll be right back.” Jimmy strides away, and I gulp a big lungful of air.
“Still think your method’s better?” Dal sets down the menu.
“Shut up.”
Cassidy picks up the sweatshirt. “I guess you should put this on.”
“Not fair.” Dal looks longingly toward the restroom. “You get to escape the stench.”
“Fine.” I’ll prove I’m a team player. “I’ve got this.”
I wriggle the hoodie over my sweater. It’s so ginormous that it swallows me up like an ugly dragon. Dragging the zipper to my neck, I pull my hands inside the sweatshirt through the arm holes.
“What are you doing?” Dal asks warily.
“Changing,” I say, working the buttons to take off my sweater. The hoodie keeps me covered, so this shouldn’t be a problem. “Every Hollywood kid can do a speedy costume change without breaking a sweat.”
Dal stares, mesmerized. “Should this be turning me on?”
“No.”
“Because it isn’t.” He keeps staring. “You’re hideous.”
“I hate you.”
He takes a sip of beer. “Back atcha, babe.”
God, he’s infuriating. And sexy and— “Oops.” Thanks, distraction. I just unhooked my front-clasp bra by mistake. Now what?
“Problem?” Dal asks, eyes locked with mine.
“Nope.” Heat floods my face as I fight to think on my feet. On my butt. With my tits blowing free in the breeze and world’s hottest chef watching me across the table.
To hell with him.
Fishing the bra through my armhole, I shake it out. “Didn’t need that, anyway.”
Dal’s mouth drops open. “Holy shit.”
Ignoring his gaze, I tuck the lacy pink bra in my purse. My cashmere sweater—stink-free, for the record—gets folded up, too, and crammed in my overstuffed bag. “There.”
Cassidy pretends to applaud. “Well done.”
“I’ll say.” Dal shakes his head, but he can’t hide what looks like respect in his eyes. “You commit. I’ll give you that.”
“Damn right.” I pick up my menu and wait for Jimmy’s return.
Cass checks her phone. “You know what? Jake texted what he wants. He’s almost here, so let’s just order.”
“Sounds good.” Dal waves to our smelly server, who bounds to the table like a Golden Retriever. One desperately needing a bath. How does he not notice?
“Hey, that looks great.” He gives me a cheerful thumbs-up. “All better?”
“No, actually.” Now’s my chance to make this right. “Maybe it wasn’t me after all.”
“Huh.” Jimmy looks at Cassidy. “You always smell nice, Miss Brooks.”
“Just Cassidy’s fine.” She gives me a helpless smile. “What else do you think it might be?”
I meet Jimmy’s eye, hoping he puts it together. Please, please, please?—
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” A bearded giant—aka Jake—stomps to the table. He bends to kiss Cassidy, then stands up and snarls, “What the fuck, Jimbo?”
“Huh?” Jimmy backs up like his boss might punch him. “What’s wrong?”
“You stink like a goddamn dead fish.” Jake glares at Jimmy. “Did you shower after you cleaned the bait tank?”
“I did, I swear!” He smells his right sleeve, then left. An awful wretch lurches out of him. “Holy shit! It’s my watchband.”
Jake curses some more. “How did you not notice you reek like rotting bait?”
Cassidy gags as Jimmy flails his arm like it’s on fire. “I had Covid two weeks ago, remember?” Jimmy’s fighting to unlatch the Velcro. “My smell’s all screwed up.” He heaves as he tugs off his watch. “Good God, that’s horrid.”
Cassidy covers her face. “You’re making it worse.”
“Well.” Dal meets my eye across the table, so smug and so sexy, I sincerely want to smack him. “Shall we order?”
* * *
It’s wellafter midnight and I can’t sleep. Maybe because I’m in my parents’ house, which feels weird. They may not be here, but I’m sensing them everywhere.
In my head I hear echoes of Mom’s voice on the phone an hour ago. “I had a call from my attorney.” My mother heaved a put-upon sigh. “She spoke with Christie Chaplin’s publicist.”
“What did she say?” I bit my lip, praying it had nothing to do with?—
“She’s very cagey.” Mom seemed to miss my impending panic attack. “You’re right, though. There’s a chapter in her new memoir that mentions me.”
“Oh?” I tried to sound breezy but didn’t pull it off. “What does it say?”
“We couldn’t get details. You know how secretive everyone gets around book releases.”
“Right.” That sounded ominous. “I know someone on her publisher’s PR team. I can ask about?—”
“I think she’s just jealous.”
I shut up and stared at the wall. “What?”
“That’s what it’s about.” Mom sounded so sure, I almost believed her. “Christie Chaplain’s just trying to steal attention from my memoir.”
“It’s possible.” The woman could still do some damage. “What are the odds she’d say something after all this time?”
“Hard to say.” Mom went quiet, which is never a good sign. “Do you know what we should do?”
I got ready to jump in with a full publicity plan, but Mom answered her own question. “We should be ready with some kind of distraction. You know what would be fabulous?”
Rolling back on the sky-blue duvet, I stared at the ceiling of my parents’ guest bedroom. “What’s that?”
“A pregnancy announcement.”
“Um.” I pulled the phone from my ear and frowned at it. Was Shirleen Judson high? “Okay, well, I’m not sure you and Dad should?—”
“Not me,” she huffed. “Can’t one of you kids do something?”
I considered reminding her that Cooper and Amy are due any day now. Gabe and Gretchen aren’t far behind with baby number two, plus Lauren and Nick seem ready to?—
“What about you, Lana?”
I nearly dropped the phone. “Me?”
“You said you’re seeing someone.”
I said no such thing, but she gave no chance to argue. Mom kept on going like this wasn’t weird as hell. “Lemon Light has all those sweet little vignettes about my youngest baby,” she gushed. “On account of your father’s nickname for you.”
“I’m aware.” My gut twisted painfully. Lemon Drop. From the time I was little, that’s what my father called me. I drew a few breaths, working to push back the panic and guilt.
Mom continued. “Wouldn’t it be a hoot if my baby was having a baby?—”
“No,” I snapped, nipping that in the bud. “Let me just talk with the rest of the publicity team. If there’s a story breaking, I’ll find it.”
“Fine.”
It’s been an hour since the call as I yank at her zillion-thread-count sheets and roll over in bed. This is pointless. Maybe that’s not even what’s keeping me awake.
Maybe it’s Dal, just six doors down in another guest suite. We’ve never slept under the same roof before, and I’m hyperaware that he’s here. That his eyes raked my torso at the restaurant when I returned from the restroom wearing my cashmere sweater again.
Heat filled his eyes as gravel filled his voice. “Where’s the bra?”
“None of your business,” I snapped. We sat alone at the table, Jake and Cassidy off fiddling with the jukebox by the bar. I crossed my arms and glared at Dal. “Just so you know, my method would’ve worked.”
“Maybe.” At least he gave me that much. “Mine’s quicker, though. Would’ve saved us all some heartache.”
“Everyone except Jimmy.” I wasn’t willing to concede that point. “It’s different hearing something like that from a boss or a friend versus total strangers.”
“Not necessarily.” His eyes darkened. For a second I thought he might still be puzzling out whether I’d put on my bra.
For the record, I had. Not that it did much good, the way he looked through my clothes.
“Sometimes it’s worse,” Dal continued. “When someone you love—someone you trust—blows sunshine up your ass, instead of caring enough to be honest.”
Dammit to hell.
With a huff of frustration, I fling off the sheets. Screw this. I’m getting a snack.
I pull on my robe and stuff my feet into squishy pink slippers. Easing open the door of my suite, I pad down the hall to my parents’ huge kitchen. Neither one cooks, and their chef has the night off. There’s a housekeeper who lives at the other end of this monster McMansion, but I haven’t seen her since this morning.
My stomach growls as I pull open the fridge. I’m not much of a cook, but I make a mean set of scrambled eggs with chives and fresh-ground pepper. Snatching a carton, I pull eggs from the fridge and locate a skillet in one of their rolling drawers. A mixing bowl, too, though I can’t find a whisk to save my life.
I start humming a song, intent on distracting myself from Dal. It’s not until I’m cracking the eggs that I recognize what I’m humming.
“Bon Appétit,” by Katy Perry.
Figures. A sexy-as-hell foodie song. The last thing I need stuck in my head with Dal Yang sleeping just down the hall. Shirtless, I’m sure, because life’s unfair.
“Knock it off,” I mutter, commanding myself to focus. “It’s not happening.”
“What’s not happening?”
I whirl and an egg slips from my fingers. Dal darts forward, catching it before the fragile white sphere hits the ground.
“Holy shit.”
He grins and hands it over. “What’s not happening?”
“Nothing.” My skin tingles where our fingers touched. Turning away, I pull my robe tighter. I should have worn warmer pajamas. I’m in a silky camisole and babydoll shorts with lace at the hem. I like nice sleepwear, okay?
Dal leans on the counter like he’s reading my mind. “Whatcha making?”
“Scrambled eggs.”
“Can I help?”
I turn and grab the bowl off the counter, working hard not to look at him. I’m not even sure what he’s wearing. “Got it covered, thanks.”
“Want hash browns to go with them?”
“No.” My stomach growls. “Maybe.”
Chuckling, Dal bumps me aside and roots through the pantry for a bag of fresh russets. We work in silence a while, Dal grating spuds, me cracking eggs way too hard against the counter.
“Did the chickens piss you off?”
“What?” I look up to see Dal watching me. “What do you mean?”
“You’re whacking their progeny like it’s part of a revenge plot.”
“I know how to crack eggs.” I finish that part of the job and set to work beating them with a fork. It slips from my hand, landing with a blop in the bowl. I fish out the fork, frustrated and way too conscious of Dal working shirtless beside me.
“I’ll help if you want.” He can’t leave well enough alone. “Want me to find a whisk?”
“No.” Except now that he’s offered, I kinda want to know how he’d do it. “How do you make yours?”
“Eggs?” He stops squeezing water from shredded potatoes and sets the towel on the counter. “Low heat, nice and slow. Flaky sea salt and fresh cracked pepper. A shower of soft herbs, maybe dill or parsley. Chives if I’ve got ’em.” He unwraps the towel and seasons the soon-to-be hash browns with salt and pepper. “You?”
“Same.” I go back to beating my eggs, conscious of him watching. “You going to tell me I’m doing it wrong?”
“Nope.” He’s quiet a moment. “Not unless you want me to.”
“I don’t.” Except maybe I do. “That’s the thing.” The fork slips again, and I fish it back out of the bowl. “If someone asks for your input, it’s fine to be blunt. They’re telling you they can take it.”
He’s quiet a moment, considering. “What if they really need to hear it?”
“Who’s the best judge of that?”
“Depends on the situation, I suppose.”
I keep right on whipping, conscious of Dal’s eyes on me. Of the robe slipping off my shoulder. I tug it back up and grip the edge of the bowl. I lost count of how many eggs I slid in here, but there’s more than enough for two. “You want some?”
“Yes, please.”
I wipe off the fork and start beating again as my robe slips down my shoulder. Before I can fix it, Dal steps behind me.
“Here.” He tugs the silk back up my shoulder and I shiver.
“Thanks.”
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
“Mad at me?”
I don’t answer right away. “I’m not mad.” I glance over at him through my lashes. Should I be honest?
Screw it. “Just feeling a little…disrespected.”
“Disrespected.” He says it like he’s tasting the word. “Because I questioned your methods?”
I nod and focus on the eggs. “It’s not just that.” Something in how he’s watching me makes me let down my guard. “It’s been a long week. A long couple of weeks, if I’m being honest.” Since the day Mom first called and asked me to—“Did you like the chowder at O’Brien’s?”
If he’s surprised by my abrupt change of subject, he doesn’t show it. “The truth?”
I turn to look at him over my shoulder. “You hated it?”
“Nope.” A grin tugs the edge of his mouth. “It was outstanding.”
Dropping my hand from the bowl, I punch him in the shoulder. “Dick.”
“What?” He’s laughing as he leans against the counter, way too close for comfort. From the corner of my eye, I take him in. He’s wearing loose gray sweatpants and—of course—no shirt. A trail of dark hair dips low at the waistband and disappears. And under the drawstring, an impressive bulge?—
“My mistake.”
I jerk my eyes up to look at him. “What?”
“You said dick.” Laughter sparks in his eyes. “I thought you were insulting me, not ogling me.”
Heat burns my cheeks as I grit my teeth. “I wasn’t ogling. Just wondering what brand those sweatpants are.”
“Champion?” Dal looks bemused. “It says so in giant letters down the left leg.”
“So it does.” I really want to hate him, but I can’t stop wanting him. “Why did you tease me?”
“About staring at my?—”
“By making me think you hated the chowder.”
At that, he looks genuinely perplexed. “By asking if you wanted the truth?” He shakes his head slowly. “Not all truth is bad.”
“Depends on who’s telling it.” Also, I’ve been beating these eggs for roughly sixteen years. I’m about to stop when he touches my hand.
“Careful.” The gravel in his voice tickles my eardrums. “Keep whisking like that and you’ll make meringue.”
I let go of the fork. “Really?”
“Not really.” He shrugs and makes his chest muscles roll. “That’s what you’d get with only egg whites. But over-whisking eggs can cause the protein molecules to uncurl, exposing the sticky amino acids and?—
“Fine. Here.” I shove the bowl in front of him. “Show me how it’s done.”
He eyes me like this might be a trap. “You’re doing just fine on your own.”
“You just said I wasn’t.”
His mouth quirks again. “I recognize I might be distracting you. I can stop.”
Whirling around, I face him head-on. “Is there a reason you’re not wearing a shirt?”
“I sleep naked.”
There’s a visual my libido didn’t need. “And yet, you’re not standing nude in my parents’ kitchen.” I cock my head and try to look as brave as I sound. “You had the wherewithal to put on pants.”
My voice sounds too breathy on wherewithal, but I think I made my point.
Dal holds my gaze for a heartbeat. Then twelve. “Maybe I wanted you to look at me like you’re doing right now.”
I lick my lips. “How’s that?”
“Like you’d just as soon eat me as the eggs.”
My face flames. “Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”
He shrugs and I love how his shoulders ripple. “It’s not ego if it’s true.”
“And not all truth is bad,” I parrot as my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. “I forget where I heard that.”
“Lana.” He steps closer, crowding me with his heat.
“What?” I can’t look at him. Can’t even breathe without launching myself at his chest. “Don’t you want to show me how an internationally renowned chef makes scrambled eggs?”
“No.”
The hunger in his voice makes me look up. His eyes are molten pools, bathed in light sparking off my parents’ crystal chandelier. I lick my lips again and watch his eyes stray to my mouth. “Why not?”
His arm ropes around me, pulling me snug to his chest. “Because that’s not what I’m craving right now.”
My heartbeat thunders as my head starts to spin. “What do you mean?”
Then he’s kissing me, deep and hard and fierce. It’s so sudden, so brutal, that I lose my balance.
Or maybe that’s not true. Maybe my knees buckle because—holy Christ on a cracker—Dal Yang can kiss. This isn’t the same kind of kiss we shared back at my place. He’s hungry and rough and pinning me back to the counter with a strength that unspools me.
He releases my mouth, but he’s not done with me. Not even close. One hand snakes to my robe, yanking the ties so it slips off my shoulders in a waterfall of silk. I gasp as it puddles at my feet and Dal kisses his way down my throat.
If I didn’t know him, I might feel afraid. But this is Dal we’re talking about—the man I’ve wanted for months, years. His aggression only fans the flames.
He’s kissing the tops of my breasts now, one large hand curled tight at my waist. I’m melting. I’m drowning in heat, liquid pooling between my thighs. My nipples ache with need, but he’s not even close to them. An inch and a half separates his lips and the sensitive tips pressing sharp against my silk cami.
I’ve never wanted anyone this much.
Dal groans and drags his mouth off my flesh. His dark eyes flash in the warm kitchen light. “Tell me now if you want me to stop.”
“Do I look like I want you to stop?”
He searches my eyes, jaw clenching. “I can’t tell sometimes with you.”
“Can’t tell what?” I’m aching and throbbing and seconds away from humping his leg.
“If you feel it for real or you’re doing a job.” He flinches at his own words. “Not a job. I just—” A growl rips his way up his throat. “I don’t trust myself sometimes to read the signs.”
His accusation, his confession, swings me from lust to anger to need. I’m dizzy from the back and forth. From the aching urge to keep kissing him. Searching his eyes, I don’t see mistrust.
I see a man who wants desperately to believe.
So I take a step back and grab the hem of my top. “In that case,” I breathe, tugging it over my head, “let me be crystal clear.”